


guilty of dust and sin

by aflightoffancy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, adam centric, adam thinks about ronan wanting him, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflightoffancy/pseuds/aflightoffancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just vanity. Pride.</p><p>When his heart speeds up, <i>wanted, wanted, wanted</i> thundering beneath his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	guilty of dust and sin

Sometimes. 

Sometimes when he catches Ronan looking at him, he, uh.

(It’s not. He shouldn’t. He’s not. And even if he was, it’s _Ronan_.)

It’s just vanity. Pride.

When his heart speeds up, _wanted wanted wanted_ thundering beneath his skin. 

Wanted by _Ronan_.

Ronan who is everything, who can have anything.

Ronan who has seen him cracked and broken and torn open. 

Ronan who knows, _knows_ , he’s not good or worthy or. Anything.

Who’s seen him with dirt under his nails and grease on his clothes.

Who watched him as he let Whelk die, who knows he didn’t regret it. Who knows he still can’t bring himself to regret it as much as he should.

Who knows all his dirtiest secrets and still _still._

(Not all. Never all. But enough.)

Who is fierce and beautiful and powerful. Powerful, not in the way he is. With power stolen, borrowed, bartered for. Powerful because he’s Ronan. Powerful simply because he _is_.

That his heart races, that his breath catches, whenever he thinks about it. It’s just. Wonder. At the sheer impossibility.

\--

It’s not like there’s any point in examining it further.

Whatever this is. Whatever Ronan feels for him, about him. It’ll pass. 

It’s a _crush_. A high school crush. 

It’s. It will be fleeting.

\--

Even if high school crushes weren’t notoriously so, there’s no way this could last.

He’s Adam Parrish, and he’s Ronan Lynch. And. 

Well. 

He is Adam Parrish.

And he will never be enough. 

And one day, Ronan will hold Adam in his hands, And there’ll be nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. And if he hasn’t already figured it out, then he’ll know. 

And then, like everyone else. Like his father. Like his mother. Like every single kid from his old school. Like every single kid at Aglionby, before Gansey made them pretend otherwise. Like _Blue_. 

One day, he’ll hold him. See all of him. Know all of him. And then he’ll walk away. Because Adam Parrish isn’t worth sticking around for, just ask anybody.

\--

Sometimes he thinks of Kavinsky. 

Of Ronan and Kavinsky circling each other, like it was some fucked up mating ritual.

Kavinsky breaking into Monmouth. Kavinsky with Ronan’s bracelets. Ronan with Kavinsky’s sunglasses. Curled upper lips. Unbroken stares. Hearts pounding pounding pounding to the tune of a revving engine.

He thinks of how contemptible Gansey found him. 

Of how he startled Ronan back into life, right up until it was time to throw him away. 

Sometimes. When it’s dark. When his heart feels hollow. When Ronan’s eyes glance off him and settle somewhere else. 

When his heart feels light, and dares, _dares_ , to wonder what it’d be like to give in. 

He thinks of how he never really noticed Ronan looking at him until after Kavinsky was gone. 

He thinks that maybe Ronan likes dirty and dangerous things. Maybe that’s all this is.

(it’s not the same it’s not the same it’s not the same he’s not the same)

\--

Sometimes the feeling of being wanted is enough. 

\--

Sometimes he wants to scrub all traces of dirt away and meet Ronan for the very first time. To see if he’d like him still.

\--

Sometimes he’s just the Magician and Ronan is just the Greywaren. 

And their smiles are both razor sharp. 

And the world is theirs entirely.

\--

Sometimes he dreams.

And they’re at the barns, grass soft beneath their backs. 

His smile is gentle, and Ronan’s laugh is like a song. Chainsaw circles overhead, and they keep glancing between each other’s faces and the sky. 

Ronan holds his hand, their arms touch all the way up. 

Everything is warm gentle soft. 

\--

It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.

\--

Sometimes the dream continues.

And he places his hand on Ronan’s jaw and draws him close. 

And Ronan is sharp and delighted. 

\--

He wakes up. 

His hands do not touch Ronan’s jaw.

Ronan’s hands do not seek his. 

(But his eyes still do.)

\--

He wakes up, and every time he has to force those feelings down all over again. 

\--

No, not feelings. Lust.

A fucked up need to be wanted.

Starved of affection, desperately hunting for scraps wherever he can dig them up.

It’s. Something. Probably something ugly. 

Psychologists would have a field day.

\--

He _can’t_ have feelings for Ronan.

\--

Adam is never more skilled at lying than when he’s lying to himself. 

But there’s a mixtape in his car and it has his name scrawled across it in Ronan’s hand. 

It’s a stupid, silly mixtape. It’s a joke. 

But even as he chokes back his horrified groan, there’s a certain lightness settling into his chest that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

\--

It’s vanity. Pride. 

The warm feeling of being wanted.

Except for when it’s not. 

 


End file.
